


But Guard the Spark (The Baby, It's Cold Outside Remix)

by Wojelah



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wojelah/pseuds/Wojelah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack remembers the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Guard the Spark (The Baby, It's Cold Outside Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmmaDeMarais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaDeMarais/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Different Kind of Shiver](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/817) by EmmaDeMarais. 



> Thank heaven for my marvelous betas!!

Jack knows what space feels like. It's one of the first things he'd learned when he'd left home. Boeshane was a backwater. People didn't travel much, simply because they couldn't afford it. But the Face of Boe - oh, now, he was a posterboy. Travel was his _job_. And by the time that golden ticket had expired - by the time the Agency had come knocking, he'd been urbane. Blase. Utterly unfazed.

But there's a part of him, deep down, that remembers.

***

It had been an old freightliner, nearly falling apart at the hull. He'd had a letter in his pocket and a credit chit worth the fare plus three rations a day. The captain had frowned at him. The mate had leered. Jack, sixteen and shiny-new, had blushed. He'd had a moment or two to stow his things - not much, life on Boeshane didn't offer much - and then he'd reported for a safety briefing.

He'd been the only one. Not much opportunity for passage off Boeshane. Boeshane was where you went when you didn't have options closer-in. And when you got there, you stayed put - either because you couldn't afford to do otherwise or because what was waiting for you back where you came from was worse.

So he'd been the only one and he'd been sixteen and distractable, paying the barest minimum of attention to the safety holo. Afterwards he'd been out of his seat in a flash. The hand that grabbed at him from behind had scared the crap out of him.

"Y'didn't listen," said the captain.

"I did," Jack protested, but it was reflex, more than anything. He'd never been very good with authority and arguing was second-nature, but on the ship, alone, the peninsula hazy, tan, and nearly unrecognizable from orbit, attitude was hard to come by.

"I don't want you here, boy."

"I've got the payment." Jack twisted away.

"T'isnt the payment worries me." The captain scowled. "I know that look you have. You're trouble. And I don't want trouble on my ship."

Jack shrugged. "I don't see how you've got much choice. They're waiting for me."

The captain's movement was unexpected - he had Jack by the shoulder in the space of the moment, dragging him down the corridor to the airlock bay. He punched in the codes, and sixteen-year-old Jack experienced fifteen seconds of blinding terror that he was actually being thrown into low planetary orbit.

Instead, the captain slammed Jack's hand up against the outer bulkhead. "Feel that, boy?"

Jack nodded, trying not to swallow his tongue.

"That's space." The captain let go. Jack didn't move. The cold seeped into his hand, made the bones ache. "And this ship is the only thing between you and it. And she's my ship. Are we clear?"

Jack nodded again.

He'd spent most of the trip in his quarters.

To this day, he remembers the moist outline of his hand on the bay door.

***

Jack knows what death feels like. At this point, he knows it far too well, in far too many formats. He knows the cold of the earth, the freezing touch of Abaddon, even the frost of Hub's morgue. It isn't pleasant - but it's hardly as if he has a choice. Mostly, now, it's something he manages by not thinking about it.

Sometimes, though - sometimes it's hard to forget.

***

Jack's had worse deaths. Given who and what he is - given _Torchwood_ \- he can only assume that there will be others. But it's Abaddon that steals into his dreams, jolting him awake with the memory of that vast, empty, freezing void.

He's done this far too often to have faith in any other kind of afterlife. Every time, there's only been the dark. Jack understands Suzie far, far too well - he, at least, knows he'll eventually wake up. Usually.

But when Abaddon had come, that huge, terrible, stalking hunger, Jack hadn't been so sure. For so long, so very, very long, there had been only the cold. Even after he'd woken, it had lingered. The warmth of his clothing, retaining his gradually returning body heat, had only alleviated the outer chill. Gwen's hands had scorched him, like hot water on frostbite. Tosh's smile had seared. Owen's remorse had scalded. And when Ianto had walked into his embrace, brilliant with heat and relief and affection, it had felt like holding a live coal. It had hurt, but it had meant waking and life and a way back into the world, and Jack hadn't ever wanted to let go, not with the cold so near.

He still dreams of it, every now and again, without rhyme or reason. It's not tied to the nearness of their miss or the nature of their danger. Sometimes, in fact, it arrives on the best nights, the quietest days, as if to remind him how narrow a line he's walking.

He still remembers it.

On the manageable nights, Ianto is there.

***

Jack knows he keeps the Hub cold. His team doesn't hesitate to remind him of that fact at every possible opportunity. He's got a million reasons to throw at them - keeps them on their toes, keeps the mainframe from seizing, keeps Myfanwy from getting a little overzealous with the pest control. And truthfully, most days are sufficiently insane that the temperature is the last thing on their minds.

He doesn't tell them it could be worse - doesn't talk to them about space or death. There's no need to share those memories. It's on the quiet days that Jack is all too aware of just how fragile they are, this team of his, these people he'd die for - has died for, will die for, in any tense or conjugation necessary, because they don't have his "get out of death free" clause in their contracts. They're his, and they're as fleeting as the breaths they puff out into the Hub's chilly air.

He doesn't share, and he wills himself to forget.

But when they've almost all gone home, when it's just him and Ianto at the end of the day, waiting for Myfanwy's safe return, Jack watches Ianto shiver and remembers. He remembers as he steps up against the curve of Ianto's back, wrapping his arms around him to hold in the warmth. He remembers, later, in the chill of the Hub, watching pale skin flush red with heat and life and wanting. He remembers, and if he could find the words, he'd shout out a denial to anyone willing to listen, that this life should ever falter and dim.

Jack remembers. Wrapped in the heat of Ianto's body, he does everything he can to stave off the cold.


End file.
